


Murmur of the Land

by blacktofade



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Tent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6633451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade/pseuds/blacktofade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate take on the tiny tent scene from Prince's Gambit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murmur of the Land

**Author's Note:**

> Look, every time I get to this scene during rereads, I keep wanting them to hook up. So I wrote the thing to satisfy my own gross needs.

Damen woke, unsure of the time. He was endlessly warm with the furs tucked around him, and the beating of drums was still audible through the tent’s thin walls. The air was close around them, the ceiling feeling too low, almost suffocating in its height, or its lack thereof.

He didn’t dare change position for fear in part of accidentally jostling Laurent—traveling in the morning with a tired, irate Crown Prince did not seem pleasant—but mostly in part of accidentally kicking out the support pole in the centre of the tent and bringing the whole thing down around their heads.

He turned his face instead and let his eyes adjust to the darkness around him.

The brazier was still throwing off heat, but not much, which meant it was probably closer to dawn than dusk. There were faint voices of women outside, but he supposed it did not matter of what they spoke, for he could not understand them anyway. He felt it would be prudent to learn, or perhaps Laurent might teach him a few words before Damen left.

And he would. He would still leave. He would see Laurent through the Regent’s attempts at war, and then he would return to his own kingdom. And perhaps one day, when Laurent was king, he would learn of Damen’s true identity. The efforts to forestall the war may be in vain after all, as perhaps Laurent would declare it against him for daring to be near him, for daring to be trustworthy.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

Laurent was quiet beside him, his chest rising and falling rhythmically beneath the fine white shirt given to him by Halvik’s women. He looked softer in sleep, his face less severe, but features no less striking. If he made it out alive, he would make a fair husband for someone, if he ever allowed himself to trust them that is.

Damen was almost certain at least part of Laurent—perhap a subconscious part—trusted him. It would explain why Laurent allowed him to speak his opinion so often, and why he followed Damen’s advice despite the odds. Though, Damen would still not put it past Laurent in just wanting to be contrary to incite his uncle.

“Stop thinking,” Laurent told him, his roughened voice slipping beneath Damen’s guard and startling him.

His eyes were still closed, but his mouth was pinched and unhappy.

“There is a lot to think about,” Damen replied softly and one piercing blue eye opened to focus on him.

“Then go outside. You are too loud.”

“The drums outside are loud,” Damen argued. “My thoughts are silent.”

“And yet here we are,” Laurent said, “both awake.”

“How am I meant to sleep when every breath hurts?” Damen pointed out and Laurent’s other eye finally opened as he curled onto his side to face Damen.

“You have suffered worse.”

Damen’s back had been feeling tight without Paschal’s salve, but not enough to complain about. The knowing silence stretched out between them until Laurent broke.

“Would you like me to request more ice?” he said, surprisingly soft. “The heat is not good for it.”

 _No_ , thought Damen, _though neither is the cramped quarters_.

“No,” Damen said aloud. “I will live.”

Laurent fell quiet and Damen listened to his breathing, half expecting him to fall back asleep.

“You fought well,” Laurent told him and Damen let out a huffed breath.

“I hardly fought when they gave me these,” he said, meaning the bruises.

“Then you took a beating well,” Laurent corrected.

“But you already knew that,” Damen said, not sounding half as bitter as he thought he should.

“I cannot take it back,” Laurent told him.

“Would you, if you could?”

Laurent was silent for a moment, pondering the question.

“No,” he said with finality. “It would be foolish to ignore our history.”

“We have history?” Damen asked, his tone light, thinking if only Laurent knew the truth.

“I hated you,” Laurent admitted and Damen swallowed and stared at the roof of the tent hanging just above them.

“And now?”

“And now I share a tent with you,” Laurent said. “A tent made solely for princes who want a place to fuck their suitors.”

“Then we are fortunate that I am not your suitor.”

“Are you not?” Laurent asked. “There are many that would beg to differ.”

“They do not know you,” Damen argued. “Nor do they know me.”

“And I am not the type you would wish to court?”

It was a loaded question and Damen knew it. It was like standing at the edge of a precipice and feeling the urge to jump. It would hurt at the bottom, but the fall would be a rush.

“You are precisely my type,” Damen admitted. “But you are my master.”

Damen almost heard the raising of Laurent’s brow.

“That is news to me,” he said dryly. “Have I _ever_ been your master? Have you _ever_ been my slave?”

The question prickled Damen.

“I was your slave when you gave me no choice but to play your game.”

“And now you play it willingly.”

Damen had no answer for him. There was no reason for him to help Laurent, not from Laurent’s perspective. A soldier would not care about a war, only that he was on the winning side. Damen didn’t know what side that was anymore.

“I don’t play and I get hurt,” Damen said and Laurent snorted unattractively.

“You do play and you still get hurt,” he told him, which was fair enough when he was still smarting from hard hits.

Silence fell between them once more and Damen stared into the darkness as he listened to the continuous drumming outside.

“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,” Laurent said and Damen made a thoughtful noise.

“In general?”

“No,” Laurent replied abruptly. “After we were captured. You weren’t meant to try to fight them all.”

“They—” Damen began, but had nowhere to go.

What would he say? They touched you and I wanted to cut their hands off? The thought of anyone else having you makes me sick to my stomach?

“They, what?” Laurent asked boldly, though Damen assumed he already knew the answer.

“They had no right to touch you.”

“I didn’t know I had to consult with you over who could or could not touch me. I thought that as the Crown Prince, that was my own choice.”

“You wanted them to put their hands on you?” Damen snapped and Laurent fell quiet for a long moment.

“I didn’t. But I didn’t want them to put their hands on you either.”

Damen’s world tilted ominously at the admission and he could do nothing but open his mouth wordlessly, sentences refusing to form.

The shifting of furs was the only indication of Laurent moving, but Damen had no time to wonder what he planned to do before cool fingers pressed against his side, where the skin was still hot and tender with bruising. He flinched against the touch, but didn’t attempt to draw away.

“Here?” Laurent asked, voice low. Damen had to swallow around the thickness of his tongue to answer.

“Up a little.”

Laurent’s fingers traced a path along his ribs, settling where it hurt most.

“Here?” Laurent asked again and Damen nodded, not knowing—and decidedly not caring in that moment—if Laurent saw in the dimness of the tent.

Laurent’s thumb rubbed in soothing circles as though trying to pull the pain out, before he settled his whole palm against Damen’s side. Damen felt oversized with Laurent’s fine-boned hand upon him, his fingers long and delicate. He wanted to warn Laurent off, to tell Laurent he shouldn’t touch him with such intent.

But Damen was selfish in that moment and instead kept quiet.

The furs shifted again, but this time they were drawn down Damen’s body, slipping over his ribs, down his stomach, over his hips. It was a heady sensation, one that he might reminisce about the next time he took himself in his own hand. It was done like a lover would, exposing his body with a slow anticipation that Damen might appreciate if it were his to appreciate.

But Laurent was not his lover.

“You will not see them,” Damen told him, knowing Laurent wanted to inspect the damage. “It is too dark.”

“I don’t wish to see them,” Laurent said, his hand still on him. But his voice seemed tight, strained.

Damen attempted to lean up on one elbow, despite the pain, but a hand—Laurent’s other hand—pressed against his collarbone and kept him down. Damen felt vulnerable, but not enough to put an end to Laurent’s touching. Laurent himself adjusted his position, his knee knocking into one of the tent poles, shaking it ominously, but Laurent paid it no attention and Damen belatedly realised why at the first touch of soft lips against his skin.

Damen froze, not even daring to breathe.

Laurent’s mouth was gentle, but unsure as it followed the line of inflamed heat across Damen’s ribs, never lifting off completely between kisses, but instead dragging across a set path, allowing Damen to feel the wet heat of Laurent’s breath.

Damen’s mind rushed at the sensation, trying to guess what Laurent had planned, trying to guess _why_ Laurent would ever be so gentle and open with him. Laurent might try to bargain for something, but Damen had no idea why Laurent would hold this over him.

Unless it was a test.

Damen pressed a hand to Laurent’s shoulder, moving slowly, not wishing to startle him.

“Do not do what you will regret come morning light,” Damen told him.

Laurent paused long enough to speak, though his lips still grazed Damen’s skin. “Morning light has already come.”

It was true; the tent was beginning to filter in the sunrise outside. But it was beside the point, and Damen tightened his grip.

“Laurent,” he said, and Laurent leaned himself up on one elbow to gaze down at him.

“You do not want this?” Laurent asked, another loaded question.

Damen let the words settle into his bones before he said, “I want this and more.”

Laurent’s palm found its way to Damen’s hip, pressing warmly.

“Then why would you stop me?”

“Because everything is a game for you,” Damen told him honestly.

Laurent hesitated, his expression strangely open.

“Not this,” Laurent said. “Not with you right now.”

“Then what is it?” Damen asked and Laurent took a moment to think.

“Long overdue.”

Damen thought of all they had been through, the times Laurent had heeded his advice, the times Damen had followed Laurent with blind trust. He thought about the rooftop chase, he thought about fighting alongside Laurent, he thought about Laurent pressed against his back atop Damen’s horse. He thought that Laurent might be right.

He didn’t think about what Laurent would do if he knew it was Damianos the entire time.

Instead, he shifted his hand from Laurent’s shoulder to the side of his neck, his thumb grazing his jaw. His skin was soft and Damen knew he could easily become addicted to the feeling of it. He could get lost in the sensation and forget anything even existed outside of their tent.

Laurent leaned down and Damen didn’t stop him, not when Laurent’s hair tickled his face as he got closer, not when he felt Laurent’s breath against his mouth, not when their lips brushed in a soft, chaste kiss that would have brought Damen to his knees had he been standing.

Laurent’s hand cupped his face and between one breath and the next, the kiss deepened. Laurent’s mouth was hot and insistent and Damen opened for him. Damen had shared many kisses with many people, but none of them kissed like Laurent. Laurent seemed torn between kissing Damen as though it was his first time, and kissing him as though he were a cheap prostitute. Damen loved it all.

Damen curled one arm around Laurent’s side and tugged just enough to draw Laurent over him. Laurent didn’t break stride; he continued kissing him, even as he threw a thigh over Damen’s own and curled against him. The movement shifted the tiny loincloth Damen wore, but that wasn’t a great feat with how small it was. Damen’s growing arousal alone was almost enough to push it aside.

Laurent's hands were insistent upon him, grazing whichever section of bared skin was closest at the time as they moved. Damen couldn’t get enough of the touch.

“What do you want?” Damen asked in between kisses and Laurent's mouth moved to his jaw.

“Everything.”

"You already have that,” Damen told him.

Laurent’s teeth nipped at him and Damen hoped they’d leave marks. He would wear them with pride.

“I want to see you come,” Laurent said crudely and Damen’s cock throbbed.

Damen spread his legs, mindful of the tent’s support poles, and felt his loincloth shift further to the side, revealing himself. Laurent’s hand brushed his hip, his thigh, but never where he wanted it most.

“If you want to see me spill, I’ll need encouragement.”

Laurent took a moment to think about the words, but then he sat up, propped against Damen’s hips as he fastidiously unlaced his shirt. Damen watched, enraptured, as Laurent tugged it neatly over his head and bared himself. He carded his fingers through his ruffled hair and then stared down at Damen as though daring him to say something.

Damen didn’t have any words. The sight of Laurent, naked and pale with his reddened cock arching towards his stomach, was enough to steal the thoughts from his mind and the sounds from his mouth.

Instead, he used his hands to show his appreciation. He moved slowly, giving Laurent time to see and understand his intentions before he curled his fingers around Laurent's cock.

Laurent responded beautifully, his back curving, his hips rolling reflexively into the touch. Damen knew he'd never tire of such a reaction. He moved his other hand to Laurent's side, curling around his ribs, his palm seeming massive against Laurent's smaller frame.

“I thought this was about you,” Laurent said. “I thought _you_ were going to come.”

“I will come,” Damen said with surety and Laurent hummed thoughtfully.

Damen rubbed his thumb over the head of Laurent's cock and enjoyed the sound it drew from him. It was soft, almost surprised, and so Damen did it again.

Laurent was leaking freely, clearly enjoying the attention, and Damen loved the warmth of him, the wetness that proved just how Laurent felt about having Damen's hand on him. Damen wanted to get his mouth on him.

He wondered absently if anyone had ever done that for Laurent. He wanted to give Laurent everything he'd never had before. He wanted to give Laurent everything he'd already had before but make it better for him. He wanted to give Laurent the best of everything.

He quickened his strokes and Laurent remained perched above him, his hands two points of heat against Damen's chest.

Damen wished he could do more, maybe reach across for the oil and get a finger or two into Laurent. But he feared that any movement would break the spell around them. He kept his hand moving, speeding up when Laurent began rolling his hips, like he might if Damen was inside him, filling him with the thickness of his cock.

He’d like that. He’d like to get his hands on Laurent’s hips and push up into him.

Laurent stared down at him, his face partially hidden by shadows, and Damen held his gaze. He didn’t know what Laurent was thinking, but his eyes were hooded with pleasure and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed, his mouth almost as wet as the head of his cock.

The silence between them was heady, almost worse than if Laurent was talking.

Laurent’s breathing hitched, hips bucking harder when Damen tightened his grip, and Damen thought it was perfect. He was watching Laurent come apart under his hands and he didn’t want to think about anyone else seeing him as he was. He wanted to savour the memory, tuck it deep inside of his mind for the days that would follow. They would be tested by Laurent’s uncle, but Damen knew he would have the strength if he had Laurent by his side.

Laurent made a wounded sound and hunched over him, dropping his head to Damen’s shoulder and breathing warmly against his skin.

“I cannot,” he said, but cut off as he began to shake, every muscle in his body seeming to draw taut before he let out an unsteady breath and came over Damen’s knuckles.

Damen continued stroking him, drawing out the last of his pleasure until Laurent moved his hand to cover Damen’s own, halting his movements.

“Enough,” he panted, head still bowed and Damen couldn’t help but card his fingers through Laurent’s hair with the fingers that were not covered in release.

Laurent’s chest heaved with each breath and Damen was still achingly hard between them. He needed to touch himself. He adjusted his hold on Laurent and took himself in hand with the one still wet with Laurent’s mess, spreading it across his own skin and using it to slick the way. It really only made it stickier, but the thought of spreading Laurent’s smell across his skin had him throbbing against his own fingers.

Laurent was attempting valiantly to catch his breath, but when he raised his head, he looked faintly shell shocked, his eyes wide with surprise as though Damen had taken him to new heights.

“Okay?” Damen asked, despite being caught up in his own pleasure, and Laurent didn’t seem to know what the right answer was.

“Perhaps,” he said. “In a few minutes.”

Damen didn’t rush him, just let him rest while he dealt with his own needs. But after a long moment, where Damen realised that he wouldn’t last much longer than Laurent himself, Laurent shifted and although he propped himself up with one hand, he dropped the other down to join Damen’s own.

Damen couldn’t stop the sound of need that slipped out, that one that gave away exactly how much he wanted Laurent to touch him. But he suspected that Laurent already knew, because his fingers were sure where they wrapped around him, not shaky as Damen expected them to be.

“I still want to see you come,” Laurent said and Damen drew in a hissing breath.

“Might be sooner than you expect,” he replied.

“You like me watching you?” Laurent asked. “Like me touching you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Damen forced out, precome leaking freely from his cock as Laurent helped spread it around with devastating circles of his thumb.

“I have thought about his,” Laurent told him and that was too much for Damen.

His body locked and Laurent rode out the movements to keep from sliding off of Damen’s hips, his hand still moving unceasingly as he pulled Damen through his orgasm, wrenching it out of him as though Damen didn’t have the choice. But he did. He wanted Laurent over him; he chose to draw Laurent near, to kiss him and give him his own pleasure.

If Laurent would have him, he would choose to spend the rest of his nights, for as long as he lived, with Laurent curled beside him. It was a realisation that hit with the same cracking acknowledgment as a whip upon skin.

He lifted a hand to the back of Laurent’s neck and guided him in, moving their mouths together, and Laurent didn’t fight him, not in the slightest. In fact, it was Laurent’s own tongue that deepened it and had Damen panting against him.

The sight of Laurent’s mouth when he pulled away was enough to have Damen pressing another kiss to it, unable to help himself. But then he carefully rolled, lowering Laurent into the furs beside him as he reached across for Laurent’s nightshirt.

He passed it over, expecting Laurent to dress once more, but Laurent only used it to wipe off his stomach and cock, before pressing it back into Damen’s grip for him to do the same. Damen was still sticky and still smelled strongly of release, but it was enough to let him settle, his body feeling boneless after the exertion.

Beside him, Laurent was quiet and Damen glanced over, finding him deep in thought. He stroked the backs of his knuckles along Laurent’s upper arm and Laurent blinked and met his gaze.

“There is a lot to do in the days coming,” Laurent told him and Damen nodded.

He knew all too well.

“Let us sleep,” Damen said. “We will worry about the future when it arrives.”

Laurent paused and observed him for a long moment before carefully crowding against him and pressing a kiss to his lips. Damen accepted it without a second thought and carefully curled his arm around Laurent’s waist. When Laurent pulled back to break the kiss, he didn’t go far, and he didn’t roll away from Damen’s touch. Instead, he leaned into it, using Damen’s shoulder as a pillow.

“Whatever happens,” Laurent said, “we will have this.”

It was true, they would always have this, even just as a memory. It was with that thought that Damen shut his eyes and let the morning light fade away behind his eyelids.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [Tumblr](http://blacktofade.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/eggsybacon)!


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